Mom rushed into the aisle. “Turn that off!” she shrieked at a cousin holding up a phone. “This is private!”
“No,” I said. “Theft is private until prosecutors get involved.”
Dad pointed at me, his voice shaking with anger. “You ungrateful little brat. After everything we gave you?”
I looked around the church—the flowers I had paid for, the guests they wanted to impress, the altar where I was supposed to begin a life without them.
Paige whispered, “My condo…”
“Purchased with traceable funds,” Marcus said. “Yes.”
Her expression collapsed.
Dad turned on Mom. “You said the transfers were clean.”
Mom struck his chest with the envelope. “You signed them!”
